"OK, hear me out on this before you say anything. What would you think about naming him Donovan?" I'd said late one night as we'd been snuggled on the sofa in the media room after putting Gracie and Dom to bed.
Allie had lifted her head from my shoulder and looked at me. "Donovan?" she'd asked, clearly shocked by my suggestion.
I'd cupped my hand around her cheek and kissed the tip of her nose.
"Yeah. Look, I know it may seem strange, but Alex gave me my daughter, so I figure it's only right to share my son with him in some way.I want to honor him, and I want Gracie to know that even though I'm very much her Daddy, that we haven't forgotten her Daddy Alex either.
Allie had cried, sobbed actually, which had freaked me the fuck out. I'd held her tight, telling her we could choose a different name if she wanted to. She had eventually calmed down enough to speak, and had told me that it was a wonderful idea, and that I was a wonderful man for thinking of it. Later that night, she'd thanked me for my thoughtfulness by giving me a blowjob that still made me hard just remembering it.
Van's middle name, Anthony, was in honor of Tony.He and Allie had grown exceptionally close in the last five years, even more so as he and James had navigated the ups and downs of their early relationship. Allie had been his rock when he doubted his decision to come out publicly. When online trolls spewed their homophobic shit into the universe, she was his staunchestsupporter. She was fierce in her defense of him, and he adored her for it.
When James had almost decided he couldn't handle life in the public eye, Allie talked him through it, sharing some of her experiences and coaching him on how to handle it. Tony had declared himself forever in her debt for helping him save his relationship with the man he had fallen in love with.
After blowing raspberries on Van's neck - he loved that, for some reason - I put him in his booster seat at the kitchen table, and turned to the food bowls in the corner of the kitchen. I made quick work of filling Bowie's food bowl, with him practically knocking me over to get to it when I finished. The crazy dog did that every time, acting as if he hadn't eaten in a week. I filled the bowls for the two cats next, knowing that Jagger and Lennon would wander in to eat whenever they damned well wanted to. I smiled and thanked Gracie as she filled their water bowls without being asked.
Allie shuffled into the kitchen ten minutes later dressed in one of my Storm Front T-shirts and her yoga pants. I loved her wearing those things. Whoever created them was a fucking genius as far as I was concerned.
"Gracie-girl, what kind of pancakes do you want this morning? Blueberry, banana, or chocolate chip?" she asked as she headed toward the pantry to get the dry ingredients needed for her pancake recipe.
Gracie and I both turned to Allie and said "chocolate chip" in unison. Was there really any need to ask? If chocolate chips were an option, the answer was always chocolate chips, whether we're talking about pancakes or cookies.
Allie just laughed and shook her head before getting the bag of chocolate chips from the pantry and adding it to the flour and other items she'd placed on the countertop.
While Allie made the pancakes and bacon, I washed and sliced some fruit to go with breakfast and got drinks for everyone. Chocolate milk for the kids, coffee for me, and hot tea for my Sunshine. She smiled gratefully as I handed it to her, in a mug that said, "OMG! I slept with a rockstar last night!"
We sang a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday to You", the first of several that would be sung that day, per tradition. Van sang it as happybirfday, which was cute as hell.
As soon as breakfast was over, I reminded the kids to carry their dishes over to the sink and Allie and I cleaned up the kitchen. Once Van had come along, I had insistedthat Allie relent and hire a full-time housekeeper and a nanny. The battle raged for weeks before we finally compromised, and now Abigail Flynn, a fifty-ish woman who suddenly found herself single after being a stay-at-home mom for years, came once a week for heavy cleaning - mopping floors, scrubbing bathrooms and washing windows - and helped out with the kids on occasion. Abigail was Jayne Drummond's cousin, and we knew we could trust her. She couldn't care less about fame or celebrity, and she adored our kids. They loved their "Aunt Abigail", so it worked out well.
A few months after she started working for us, Matt and Becca, and Josh and Min had also hired her in a similar fashion, so Abigail was able to drop her other clients and become the band's "official" housekeeper/nanny.She had even come on tour with us for a couple of weeks last summer, when our families had been able to join the guys and me in the middle of our US tour.
As we'd all developed our personal lives outside of the band five years ago, we'd made some hard decisions about the future of Storm Front. The four of us were in agreement that we wanted to continue making music together - that was never going to fucking change - but we wanted to slow down on the touring.
Of course, tours are a major money-maker, for us and for the record label. The four of us were OK with taking a financial hit. We could more than afford it, and it was important for all of us to be home more often. The record label was not happy though, and when our contract expired several months after Dom's birth, the negotiations for a new contract quickly stalled. They insisted on more than we wanted to give. So, we walked.
With Michael's help, we established our own smaller label, attracted bands and musicians who were like-minded, and four years later, we are a lot fucking happier for it. We have good people in place running the day-to-day stuff for the record label, with Michael's wife Jayne overseeing all of it for us, but the four of us retained creative control and were the ultimate decision-makers.
"OK, guys, let's get ready. We're leaving in an hour, so wash the syrup off your face and hands, then head upstairs to your rooms. Dom and Van, you're with me. I'll get you two ready while Mommy gets her shower. Princess, don't forget to put on your sunscreen before you get dressed," I instructed, smiling as the kids actually listened for once without anyone pouting, grumbling or whining. They all loved going to the Santa Monica Pier, which is what Gracie had picked for her birthday outing this morning. The Ferris wheel was her favorite, although she still insisted that "fairy wheel" was a better name for it.
Later this afternoon, we were having a pool party to celebrate with family, so it was going to be a long day. Graciewould celebrate again tomorrow with a pizza party for several of her friends. That would be a shit-ton of fun, not! Half a dozen giggling, screaming little girls hopped up on pizza, sodas and cupcakes running around. I'd still take that over another trip to that fucking Build-A-Bear place though. Luckily, she'd outgrown that a year or two ago. Every damned time I had taken her there, the photos hit the tabloid sites within hours, usually with me wearing a tiara or a feather boa or some such shit, just because my princess asked me to.
By the time we made it home a few hours later, the boys were in desperate need of a nap. I wouldn't have minded taking one myself, but there was a party to get ready for.
Allie had prepared most of the food last night, with the help of my excellent chopping and clean-up skills, and Aunt Ellen was bringing the birthday cake, as always. That just left the decorating and table set-up for Allie and me today, while Gracie went to her room to talk to her friends. Spending hours on the phone giggling with her friends was a relatively new development, but it was a rite of passage, according to Allie. Having never been a nine-year-old girl myself, I just took her word for it.
A little before 4:00 pm, the first guests arrived. "Nana, Papa!" Gracie squealed, running to greet my parents as if she hadn't seen them in years, when she actually just saw them two days ago.
"Nonna" was the next squealed greeting, even though she and Allie had taken my grandmother to lunch yesterday.
Soon, Steve and Colleen arrived, earning yet another squeal, despite the fact that they had stopped by for a few minutes last night on their way to dinner.
Squealing was obviously going to feature heavily in today's activities, as it continued as each guest arrived.
Two hours later, the kids and most of the adults got out of the pool and dried off as Steve and my dad announced that the meat was almost ready. They were still "The Grill Masters" at every cookout, no matter whose house it was.
As I watched my sexy-ass wife flit around, making sure everyone had enough to eat and drink, I knew I was the luckiest motherfucker on the planet. I fixed her a plate, since she hadn't taken time to get her own food yet. I grabbed a glass of iced tea to go with it, and headed toward her.
"Sunshine, you need to eat. They all know where everything's at. If they need something, they can get it themselves," I said softly as I leaned in and dropped a kiss on her temple. "Sit down here with James and Tony, and I'll grab my food and be right back."
